Where Have All the Flowers Gone?
by O'MalleytheAlleyCat
Summary: It's May 6th, just another important date on the Winchester calendar. Sam remembers exactly what the day entails, but Dean forgets. A late hurrah for memorial day and to the people we've lost in our lives.


**Where Have All the Flowers Gone?**

By O'MalleytheAlleyCat

* * *

"Where are you going?"

Sam paused, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Umm, nowhere?" Sam said with confusion.

Sam was seated at the table, working on a cup of coffee and researching something. Dean folded his arms and raised a brow. He wasn't going to be thrown off that easily.

"Dude, friggin' IPA made from some local microbrewery in the fridge, you only ever get stuff like that if we're going on trip, and since you haven't told me where we're going I'm assuming you plan on going by yourself."

The accusation wasn't like the many they had thrown at each other before, it wasn't meant to destroy, just produce enough guilt to prompt honesty. Sam wasn't immediately forthcoming.

"Look, man, if you want a little time to yourself, see some chick for a one nighter or week ender, then by all means do so, I'm not gonna get in your way, just give me a heads up alright?"

"I-it's not like that," Sam hastily tried to explain.

Dean shook his head, but there was just a bit of worry over Sam's duplicity, so instead of shrugging it off by further making fun of his brother and walking away he stayed.

"Okay, then what is it like?" Dean kept his tone even, made sure it wasn't biting. This wasn't an interrogation and he wasn't mad, just curious.

Sam's jaw ticked and Dean saw his brother struggle to speak.

"Umm, May 6th, it's uh, it's coming up," Sam said, as if that explained everything.

Dean raised a brow. Sam's birthday was the second and they'd already decided not to celebrate by Sam's many protestations. Dean still planned on making a pie, because any reason to celebrate was a great excuse to get drunk and eat pie. May 6th though, it wasn't ringing any bells.

Sam was staring at him, waiting for him to understand. Dean tried to recall any events around May that he should remember that would count as worthy of celebration. Then it hit him. Two years ago, Charlie. He felt his stomach twist itself into knots, all the amusement at Sam gone.

"Charlie," Dean said quietly, suddenly unable to look at his brother.

It was dead silent.

"I-uh-just thought, anyways, doesn't matter. I'm gonna head up tomorrow. It's not far, she's in Topeka, with her mom, I got her interred there after, well, after."

Dean didn't respond, and Sam watched his brother, wondering if there were going to be angry words, accusations. He remembered what Dean had said, but more than that he knew his own guilt fell heavily on his shoulders. It had never been on Dean, but Sam knew that his brother, for as much as he blamed Sam, also blamed himself.

Sam was surprised when Dean spoke.

"Can I come?" It wasn't angry at all, not like Sam had anticipated it being.

"Of course," he replied quietly.

* * *

The car ride there was pleasant, the weather absolutely perfect. They didn't really talk, light music drifting between the two. They stopped by a grocery store and picked up some bouquets, Sam hesitantly told Dean to look for Sunflowers, Charlie's favorite. Those in hand they drove out to the cemetery. It was north of Topeka, located near a creek. The Impala drove up the front entrance, the road old. Dean parked and the two got out.

Tall, old maples rose around them, green leaves wide and gently stirring in the breeze. It was beautiful. Sam lead the way to the plot, knowing where it was. Dean followed, feeling numb and sweaty.

They arrived at the plot. Charlie's grave right next to her mother's. It read her real name, with Charlie in quotations to denote that it had been affectionately used to refer to the woman both men had come to love.

After cleaning it up, brushing away dirt and leaves that had collected there, carefully cleaning out the grooves which declared the name and necessary dates, they got up and stood awkwardly in silence.

Sam sniffed, quickly bringing his arm up to wipe at his eyes in a jerky motion. He turned away from Dean as he did this, embarrassed or feeling unworthy of expressing his emotions.

Dean grabbed the bouquet of sunflowers and knelt once again. He arranged it on the flat, level tombstone. Tears trickled down his cheeks and he didn't wipe at them, as if unacknowledged they wouldn't exist.

"I'm sorry," Sam choked out, a sob gripping him.

Dean swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He stood back up. It was silent for a while, Sam hunched up, crying as though he wasn't supposed to cry.

"Y'know," Dean started, voice cracking and speech becoming nearly indiscernible.

He tried again.

"Y'know, Charlie she uh-she always liked those books."

He was quiet a moment.

"She was such a freaking dork," he half mumbled, now finally wiping at the moisture on his face, "but she said she hated the parts where we blamed each other for stuff, when we didn't, y'know, act like brothers."

Dean ducked his head, recalling the impish grins, the obstinate demands and the painfully but often necessarily frank words.

"Said that we had too much guilt for things we didn't deserve to take credit for," he let out a huff of laughter.

Glancing at Sam, who was still quietly crying as he had done for Jessica and John and Bobby and Pastor Jim and so so many others, Dean sidestepped. He slung an arm around his brother's shoulders, squeezed Sam's bicep and tried to revel in all that he did have and in letting go of the past without forgetting that which made it dear.

Sam turned into him slightly, wiped at his eyes and gained composure. He seemed unsure, so many spoken words spat out in the heat of a moment standing between them.

They stood for a while longer in the quiet, sunshine coming down gracefully, green maples casting varicose shadows behind them and a breeze lifting the heat.

Finally, Dean drew away and the two began the walk back to the Impala. Dean paused a moment at the car door, looking over at Sam, eyes still wet.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Sam smiled, face still blotchy. Dimples showed and Dean just knew Charlie was somewhere letting out the coos of a fangirl, fistpumping her two favorite boys.

"You're welcome," Sam returned.

The apology and kinship and forgiveness was spelled out silently between the two. With synced actions they opened their doors and got in. The car started and pulled away, headed back down the road, Pete Seeger playing out in gentle tones.


End file.
